


Ginger and a Song

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Cora [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-25 19:24:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13219557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: Ginger tea and singing, through two generations of Sheppards and Lornes.





	Ginger and a Song

Evan swung his backpack up onto his shoulder and hopped off the bus. He waved farewell to his friends as the bus pulled away from the school bus stop, then turned and headed up the path toward home.

The commune was set back from the road, through a small stand of trees and across several open fields that were left fallow for the children to play in. The Lorne house was the closest to the road (on account of Evan’s dad having been a soldier and a bit paranoid after his time in Vietnam, though Evan wasn’t supposed to know that), first on the path. He headed up the steps, kicked his shoes off and nudged them onto the porch shoe rack, then padded into the house in just his stocking feet.

“Hello, dear,” Nana called from the kitchen. “How was your day?”

Evan, who’d been headed to his bedroom, veered into the kitchen instead, greeted Nana with a kiss. “It was good. And yours?”

“Terrible, but thanks for asking.”

(Years later, Evan would meet a world-class scientist who was blunt just like her and be fond of the man, though it’d be a few years more before he could admit it.)

“I’m sorry, Nana. Anything I can do to help?”

“Your sister’s newest boyfriend is a moron and I want her to stop seeing him,” Nana said. “In addition to hating Jack Kennedy, he utterly failed to appreciate the quality of my cooking.”

Evan sighed. Tally’s appalling taste in men was an endless source of contention in the Lorne household. “Nana, you have to remember - a woman’s right to choose includes the right to make stupid choices.”

Nana huffed. “I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“It’s what you and Mom fought for, marched for and protested for. With great power comes great responsibility, Because is also comes with great risk.” Evan kissed her on the cheek again.

Nana scowled at him. “Why do you remember everything I say?”

“Because I want to be the best chef in the world one day.” Evan smiled at her.

“Do you have a lot of homework?” Nana asked. She was rifling through her box of recipe cards.

Evan peeked over her shoulder. Homemade chicken alfredo pasta with sun dried tomatoes and pesto. “No, but I’m going to go check on Amelia and Frankie before I get started on it. You need me to make the sauce?”

“Need? No. Want? Yes. You could use the practice.” Nana’s tone was arch but her expression was fond.

“All right. I just need to put my stuff down, and then I’ll head over to Frankie and Amelia’s.”

Nana made a moue of distaste. She was the only one who knew that Evan’s time with Frankie and Amelia had been his first time. Unlike a lot of other boys in the community who’d barely held out till they were sixteen, Evan had done his best to be responsible. And now he was going to be a father.

In DNA only, really. Amelia’s child would be hers and Frankie’s. He’d just be the fun uncle or something.

“Frankie won’t want you there,” Nana called after him.

Evan set his backpack on the floor next to his drafting desk, then headed for the front door.

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” he promised.

Frankie had been clear from day one - Amelia’s baby would have two parents, and Evan wouldn’t be one of them, even though the law required that his name and not Frankie’s be on the birth certificate.

Evan still felt responsible, though. For how tired Amelia was all the time. No matter what Frankie said, he had a part in this, and he refused to slack off.

So he trotted back out to the porch, toed his shoes back on, and continued on up the path to Frankie and Amelia’s house. He pulled open the screen door, knocked on the front door.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

There was no response.

Evan tested the doorknob, eased the door open a fraction. Amelia said they had an open door policy. Frankie agreed, though Evan suspected she would rather not extend that policy to him. Probably because Amelia had been with a man before. Frankie was afraid of losing her.

Evan wasn’t a homewrecker, and if he was with a girl, he’d like it to be a girl who wanted him as much as he wanted her.

“Hello?” He called out a little louder this time. “Frankie? Amelia? It’s me, Evan.”

As if either woman could mistake the sound of his voice by now. He came to check on Amelia every day, had done since she first told him the news, that she’d been the one to conceive.

There was a cough and then a weak, “Evan, in here.”

The bedroom.

Alarm sparked through Evan’s veins. He was in the house and across the den and past the kitchen to the smaller bedroom. The master bedroom was upstairs, but these days Amelia was too weak to handle the stairs, so she’d been installed in the smaller bedroom downstairs, which was right next to the baby’s nursery (still in gender neutral colors).

He eased open the door, wary of naked or copulating women. “Amelia? Are you all right?”

It was a stupid question - she’d sounded awful, and she looked pretty awful, pale and green around the gills, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Also the room smelled rank. Probably due to the old salad bowl full of vomit that was on the nightstand.

“Just, you know, morning sickness.” Amelia smiled weakly at him. She was sitting up in the bed, propped up by pillows and covered with crocheted afghans, one of which she was working on slowly herself. For the baby, judging by the pattern and dimensions.

Morning sickness, Evan well knew by now, was a terrible misnomer, since it didn’t only strike in the morning and could last all day. “Do you need anything?”

“I’m okay,” Amelia said.

Evan crossed the room and scooped up the reeking bowl. “Let me wash this out, and - would some potpourri help?”

Amelia made a face. “Ugh, no. I’m immune to the smell of my own puke at this point, but - no.”

“Okay. Um. A fresh glass of water?”

The glass on the nightstand was empty, and Evan suspected the pitcher beside it was empty as well.

“You know what helps?” Amelia said. “Helped immensely with my first two. Ginger tea.”

Ginger tea. Evan had access to fresh ginger and was no coward about grating it. “I can do that.”

“Frankie can’t stand the smell of it, but I know it works.”

“I’ll get right on that.” Evan ducked back to the kitchen. He rinsed out the bowl first, because the smell was killing him (get used to it, his mother had said, because baby diapers smell worse), and then he put a kettle on the stove to boil. He hunted in the fridge and the pantry, but there was no ginger to be had, so he ran back to his house for some, told Nana what his task was - she wagged her whisk at him and told him to be quick about it, this sauce wasn’t waiting for anyone - and then ran back to Amelia and Frankie’s.

In the kitchen, he set about peeling the ginger, grating it, and then gathering the grated ginger into cheesecloth so it could steep in the hot water. While he worked, he mulled over Amelia’s comments about her _first two._ It was tragic, how bigoted their father was, that he’d ripped two tiny kids away from their mama. Was there some way to find them on the sly? 

Once the kettle started to whistle, Evan filled three mugs with all of the hot water, set three little sachets of cheesecloth and ginger to steeping, mixed some sugar into each mug for good measure, and carried all of them back into the bedroom in the clean bowl. He arranged the bowl and a little pile of handkerchiefs on the nightstand beside the mugs, then grabbed the pitcher to refill it.

Once the pitcher was refilled, Evan set it on the nightstand beside the glass of water, and then he sat at the foot of the bed.

“Which foot do you want me to start with?”

Amelia laughed and shook her head. “You don’t have to.”

“Mom says her feet were sore all the time when she was pregnant with us,” Evan said. “Nana says dad gave her foot rubs when she was pregnant with Tally.” He cradled her left foot in his lap and started kneading carefully with his thumbs.

Amelia hummed happily, sank back against her pillows. “You’re going to make someone a fantastic spouse one day, Evan Lorne.”

“Even if I’m not going to be the baby’s father, I’m still responsible for you being in this condition.”

“It’s not a _curse,_ it’s a blessing.” Amelia hummed some more. “Ginger tea was what I used with my first two. My mother taught it to me. I taught it to them, too. Gave it to them when they had unhappy tummies.”

Evan kept massaging her feet. “Sounds smart.”

“What does your mother give you?”

Evan thought. “I - don’t think I’ve ever had a sick stomach.”

“Ever?” Amelia sat up straighter.

“Never ever.”

“Huh. Must be some lucky genes. Hopefully lucky for this little person.” Amelia patted her belly fondly. “Poor Frankie, her cramps are so bad whenever it’s that time of the month that she pukes up her guts for a couple of days every time.”

Evan ducked his head to hide his blush. “I’m not sure Frankie would want you telling me that kind of thing.” He switched to her other foot.

Amelia smiled briefly, pleased. “She’ll come around. It’s still a bit of a black and white world. She only likes women. I like both. She doesn’t understand that liking both doesn’t diminish my loyalty.”

Evan peered at her. “I thought you left your husband because you don’t like men.”

“I just didn’t like him,” Amelia said. “I was willing to stick it out, for our children, but I was honest with him about who I can love and he used it against me.”

“Was being honest with him a mistake?”

“Honesty is a double-edged sword. My other family is broken, and I’m fighting to repair it, but I have a new family, so.” Amelia shifted, made a face, clapped a hand to her mouth.

Evan was at her side in an instant, handing her a mug of ginger tea. She accepted it, cradled it in her hands, drank long and slow. Finally she handed him back an empty mug, and he set it aside, eased her back against the pillows.

“Um. When I’m sick, Nana sings to me,” Evan said. The more he reflected, the more he realized he and Tally had rarely been sick as kids, and what few memories he had of being sick, curled up on the couch and swaddled with blankets, involved making himself as small as possible and Nana sitting beside him, rubbing his back and singing.

“Singing,” Amelia echoed. “Sure. That sounds good. What’s your lullaby of choice?”

“Nana always sang this old Scottish song.” Evan cleared his throat and started to sing.

 _Sing me a song of a lad that is gone._  
_Say, could that lad be I?_  
_Merry of soul, he sailed on a day_ _  
_ _Over the sea to -_

Amelia put a hand on his arm. “Evan, you’re a real doll, the kind of old-fashioned sweet I didn’t think could exist in this decade, but you really, really shouldn’t sing in public. Ever. As a kindness. You’re a very kind young man, so please. Be kind. To me. And other people.”

Evan laughed. “Yeah, it was a long shot. There’s a reason Nana always sang to me and not Mom or Tally.”

“I feel much better now.” Amelia snuggled further back into her pillows, eyes closed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Evan said. “Should I let you rest?”

Amelia patted his arm again. “Yeah. The little one’s really taking it out of me. I swear it wasn’t as rough with the other two, but I just must be old.”

“You’re not that old,” Evan said automatically, having been trained into it by Nana and Mom. He leaned in, kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll go. Take care, Amelia. And you too, Baby.” He started to stand up, but Amelia caught his wrist.

“You can touch her, you know.” She drew back the blankets, tugged Evan closer.

He followed, helpless and a little terrified, as she pushed her shirt up so he could see her exposed belly. It was finally round, looked like something was growing in there.

“You think it’s a her?”

“It’s technically too early to tell, but - I’m pretty sure.” Amelia let go of Evan’s wrist, let him have the choice.

His hand was shaking, he realized. But he reached out, placed his palm tentatively on Amelia’s belly. He frowned. “I don’t feel anything.”

“You won’t, not for a while yet,” Amelia said, “but I can feel her.”

Evan drew his hand back reluctantly. There was a _baby_ in there. A living creature. A teeny tiny person. And he was responsible for that person, at least in part. Even if she never grew up to call him Daddy, it was his job to make sure she had a good life, was safe and happy.

And that started with making her mother happy.

And then Amelia turned green again. “More tea.”

Evan handed the second mug to her. She accepted it, drained it, set it aside with a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, Evan.” And she yawned.

“Anything for you, Amelia.”

Amelia sat back and closed her eyes, tugged the blankets back over her, and Evan backed out of the room, hurried back to his own house, heart pounding.

He was going to be a father.

*

_So, this is fatherhood._

Evan waved one more time, offered the departing EMTs an apologetic smile. Then he closed the door and turned to Cora, who was huddled on the couch, wrapped in Evan’s gray USAF hoodie. She looked terrible, two parts bright red humiliation, one part green nausea.

“I’m really sorry, Daddy.” She burrowed further into the hoodie so her face was barely visible. “Nana and Grandma and Tally and Mrs. Boslow all explained it to me, but I just didn’t know.”

Evan sat down beside her on the couch, careful not to touch her. The first time he’d found out she had a crush on a boy at school, she’d been terribly nervous and standoffish. It had been even worse the first time her PE teacher sent her home with a delicately-worded note suggesting Evan see about buying his daughter some training bras.

“I have no frame of reference for what you’re going through,” he said quietly. “But I do know what it’s like, facing an experience for which there are truly no words.”

Cora stared at him for a moment. Then she reached out and swatted him on the arm. “Daddy, starting my period is _not_ like going to war.” Then she realized just what she’d said and turned bright red, retreated back to the other end of the couch.

Evan swallowed down a shaky laugh, because he’d come home off a sleepless, heart-stopping recon to his daughter crying like she was dying, and he was still jittery with adrenaline. “On that note, let’s make a deal: you clean up the combat trail, and I’ll go out and get you some supplies.”

“Supplies?”

Evan made a face, then said, “Tampons.”

Cora disappeared into the hoodie.

“Look, I know you’re not feeling so hot right now and don’t want to go outside. So I’ll go get some tampons -” He could say it with a straight face, he knew medics kept them in their kits to deal with bullet wounds - “and some...chocolate ice cream and some -”

“Something for my tummy. I kinda feel like puking,” Cora said in a small voice.

“Ginger, for ginger tea.”

Cora peeked out of the hoodie, only her eyes showing. “Why ginger tea?”

“Your mom had me make it for her when she had a rumbly tummy, while she was pregnant with you,” Evan said, and realized he hadn’t thought of that fact in years.

Cora sat up straighter. “Oh. Okay. Does it taste bad?”

“If we mix in some sugar, it tastes like Nana’s ginger cookies,” Evan said.

Cora pushed the hood back. “Okay. I’ll clean up.” Scrub the bathroom, start some laundry, she meant. “And - I want Rocky Road ice cream.”

“Rocky road it is.” Evan stood up, leaned in, pressed a kiss to her hair, and made sure he had his wallet before he headed out the door.

The base commissary was basically a warehouse with a check stand at the front. It was located conveniently close to on-base housing, and Evan arrived among the after-school rush of spouses looking to stock up for the evening. He grabbed a basket and wove through the aisles with the efficiency of a heat-seeking missile. He grabbed a pint of Rocky Road for Cora, a pint of mint chocolate chip for himself, a box of tampons, and some fresh ginger.

At the checkstand, a bored young airman scanned him through. “Your lady on the rag or something?”

“My daughter,” Evan said sharply.

And then the airman took in the rank insignias on Evan’s uniform. “Oh. Sir. So nice of you to buy - supplies. Instead of, you know, her mother.”

“Her mother’s dead,” Evan said.

The airman’s shoulders were up around his ears. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Evan handed over his debit card, waited while the airman fumbled at the cash register, then swept up his purchases, returned his shopping basket, and headed for home.

Cora had changed into her favorite pajama pants (with sparkly unicorns all over them, that Evan had gone to great lengths to acquire), and she was just finishing loading the washer when Evan entered the kitchen. He set the kettle to boiling first thing, put the ice cream in the freezer, put the box of tampons in the bathroom, and then set to peeling and grating the ginger.

“You’re going to want to drink this tea and let it settle before you try any ice cream,” he said.

Cora closed the lid of the washer and set it to run, then shuffled over to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, pressed her face into his spine.

He stilled.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she said in a small voice.

He turned to her, hugged her tightly. “No, don’t apologize. You’re growing up. It’s what children do. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re still my little girl.”

She hugged him back. Then she said, sulkily, “I have a zit.”

“I definitely know what that’s like.” Evan pressed a kiss to her hair. “Now come on, this ginger tea won’t make itself. Let me show you how.”

“So I can make it when you’re not around?” Cora straightened up, pushed back the sleeves of Evan’s hoodie, which she was still wearing.

Evan’s chest tightened. “So maybe one day you can make it for your own kids when they have rumbly tummies.” He knew he was gone a lot, that Cora had to spend a lot of time on her own or babysitting other kids on base so their mothers would ostensibly watch her, that life would be better for her if he had a posting stateside.

“Not gonna have kids till I’m at _least_ twenty,” she said.

Evan winced. “How about thirty?”

She swatted him. “No. I want to be young and pretty when I have kids!”

“Are you saying I’m not young and pretty?” Evan was teasing her, and she knew it.

 _“Dad,”_ Cora said, with an air of exaggerated patience, “you’re twenty-seven. That’s _old._ Everything over twenty-five is old.”

“Thank you. I’ll remember that. Just remember to never say that in front of Nana, Grandma, or Aunt Tally.” Evan cut the ginger in half, gave one half to Cora for her to grate herself with his backup grater.

First chance he got, he was taking an assignment stateside, one long-term.

*

Of all the ways for the Atlantis expedition to be laid low, and it was food poisoning. Not an alien virus, not a Wraith attack: food poisoning. Because a brand new Marine had failed to follow basic KP protocol. If it’s not from Earth, check with a Pegasus native to see if it’s edible. Just because the botanists theorized it was edible didn’t mean it actually was.

The infirmary had filled up fast in the aftermath of the disaster, and after a while Beckett and Weir ordered people to remain in their own quarters. Medical teams were dispatched to check on the ill, dispense palliative medicine, make sure no one was getting dehydrated.

Cora, who didn’t much care for being coddled, had retreated to her own quarters with a bucket, a dozen bottles of water, and a bunch of ginger candies she’d won from Dr. Chang during the monthly Science Department poker tournament. Evan assigned some of the Marines who had cast-iron stomachs to assist Medical in running supplies to the residential quarters. The Marine responsible for the base-wide disaster was in the brig and feeling pretty awful himself.

Unfortunately, Evan hadn’t escaped the tide of sickness. He worked as long as he could, but eventually he had to admit defeat and retreat to his own quarters with water, a garbage can, and some soothing music. He radioed in to report his condition to John, and he managed to strip down to his underwear and undershirt before the worst of the cramps hit. He dragged the garbage can over to his bed, curled up as small as he could, and tried to breathe slow and easy.

Tally had sent him a CD of soothing music and sounds, like a river or a thunderstorm, which Evan would never have bought for himself, but the thunderstorm was actually kinda nice. If he breathed carefully, if he managed the pain, he’d make it through, it’d be okay, he wouldn’t -

Evan hung his head over the side of the bed and threw up. It burned in his throat and his nose, and his head roared, and he hated throwing up so much.

When the retching finally ceased, he fumbled on the nightstand for a bottle of water.

His door hissed open.

“Evan?”

He blinked dazedly, confused. “John?”

John strode into his quarters. “You look like hell.”

“Why thank you, sir,” Evan panted. “That makes me feel much better.”

“Apparently I have a cast-iron stomach,” John said. “Beckett says you’ll be fine in the next four to eight hours. I have us on a skeleton crew. You got enough water?”

Evan nodded.

“I went to check on Cora,” John said. “She threw her shoes at me.”

“That’s my girl. She’s very - independent, when she’s not feeling her best.” Evan managed to unscrew the cap, drank down some cold, soothing water.

“Well,” John said, “then I’ve come to offer you my patented Sheppard beside manner instead.” He reached into his pocket, drew out what looked like a couple of sugar packets. “Tea. Ginger tea. Not with actual ginger, since that’s impossible to find out here, but the crystal kind.”

Evan couldn’t help it - he laughed.

John also had a thermos full of hot water. He paused as he unscrewed the cap. “What? It works. It’s what my mom always used.”

“I know,” Evan said. He flopped back on his bed, breathless.

John tore the packets open, poured their contents into the thermos, then screwed the thermos cap back on and shook it enthusiastically. “How do you know?”

“When Amelia was pregnant with Cora, she had awful morning sickness. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t just morning sickness - she said it was worse than when she’d been pregnant with you and Dave. But she had me bring her ginger tea. The real kind. With fresh ginger.”

John got that funny look on his face he always got when Evan mentioned he knew something about Amelia that, as far as John knew, no one else should know.

“I gave her foot rubs, too,” Evan said. “I was a great support during pregnancy, let me tell you.”

“I am so not rubbing your feet,” John said, “but here. Drink up.” He held out the thermos.

Evan heaved himself into a sitting position, accepted it gratefully. “Thanks.” The warm water was soothing on his throat, too, though he sipped cautiously all the same. “Oh, yeah. That hits the spot. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” John said. Then he cocked his head. “Is that a thunderstorm?”

“Meditation music my sister sent me,” Evan said, sipping at the tea some more. “So I can manage my work stress better.”

John snorted. “Yeah. Because thunderstorm music will stop the Wraith.”

“It’s the thought that counts. She thinks I’m doing deep space telemetry, remember? On a remote outpost in the South Pacific. She thinks my biggest stress is being locked in a small place with cranky scientists and nowhere to go.”

“She’s not entirely wrong,” John said.

“No, she’s not.” Evan downed the last of the tea and lay back down, curled himself into a little ball. “Thanks, John. I really appreciate it.”

“You didn’t throw your shoes at me, so.”

Evan closed his eyes, felt exhaustion steal over him.

Maybe it was his imagination, but he thought he heard John singing as he slipped into sleep.

 _Sing me a song of a lad that is gone._ _  
_ _Say, could that lad be I?_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HC_Bingo.


End file.
